


Is this a date?

by HarrogateBelmont



Series: The Ritz and Beyond [1]
Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith
Genre: F/M, First Kiss, Robin Ellacott and Cormoran Strike's Champagne at the Ritz
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-15
Updated: 2020-10-15
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:54:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27033754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HarrogateBelmont/pseuds/HarrogateBelmont
Summary: Another take on what may have happened immediately following the end of Troubled Blood. Robin and Strike enjoy a nice dinner, and he offers to walk her home.
Relationships: Robin Ellacott/Cormoran Strike
Series: The Ritz and Beyond [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2041804
Comments: 22
Kudos: 79





	Is this a date?

**Author's Note:**

> There have been so many amazing post-TB fics coming out, and several of them have become like canon to me. But I still wanted to try to write one for myself! While I do not doubt JK Rowling/Galbraith’s ability to drag things out, I just feel like, at this point, ugh, what are they waiting for? There are no literal barriers between Strike and Robin getting together, and I just feel like two consenting adults with such strong feelings for each other would not wait for every star to align in order to make things happen. I think they can sort some things out after they’re together.

Robin could hardly believe that this evening was real. While a warm, fuzzy feeling of anticipation had been fluttering around her ever since she had read Strike’s birthday card that morning, nothing would have prepared her for the level of detail and planning he had put into this birthday celebration.

She supposed that on some level, she should be a tiny bit offended that he had assumed that she would not have any other plans, however, it was easy enough for him to make that assumption, knowing what he did about her life. Never had she been so grateful that she had not tried to plan some sort of evening out with Ilsa and Vanessa.

They were both finishing their last sips of champagne, and Robin found herself wondering how long she could make it last. She was barely tipsy, and a glance at her phone during a trip to the ladies’ a few minutes earlier had shown her that they had managed to make one bottle last almost two hours. More than anything, she was starting to feel very hungry, having assumed that she and Strike might be sharing a plate of chips while discussing a case three hours earlier, and was just contemplating suggesting they continue the evening by going to eat, when Strike beat her to it. 

“I’m hungry,” he said. 

She laughed. “One cannot live on champagne alone, I suppose. I’m hungry, too. Proper hungry.” 

“They’ve got Cornish Turbot and Yorkshire Grouse on the dinner menu here. I checked earlier. Tempted?” Strike asked.

Robin shook her head. “I appreciate the offer, but I have to confess, I’ve been craving a pie ever since we walked past The Clarence two hours ago.”

Strike’s face lit up. “I could go for a pie myself. Shall we?” And, after summoning a waiter to close out their tab, they stood and left the Ritz. 

The Clarence was crowded, but Strike steered Robin to a recently vacated spot near the back, and went to grab some menus. He returned with a beer for him and a white wine for her, in addition to the menus, and once they’d decided on their pies and placed their order, they settled in for more conversation.

Robin was surprised that their conversation did not once veer towards the business. They talked about their families, their friends, the most embarrassing hairstyles they’d had over the years. Robin had not had much opportunity to travel away from England, and Strike told her about his experiences traveling while in the army and about those places where he would like to return some day. She felt slightly detached from the scene, as if she were watching a confident and more mature woman having a romantic date with Strike. 

_A date. Was this a date?_ She hadn’t been on many true dates in her life. She imagined recounting the night’s events with Vanessa or Ilsa. The perfume, the champagne, the dinner, the conversation. All of it had been so intimate. Yes. Van and Ilsa would insist that this was a date, and likely be frustrated to learn that it had all ended with a handshake at the end of the evening and business as usual the following day. And while Robin had enjoyed long evenings with friends, this evening hadn’t felt like she was out with her best mate. It had felt like more. 

Her cousin Katie had sent her a book for her birthday. It had seemed, on the surface, to be meant as a joke, although recently, her cousin seemed to want to find an escape from her life as a harried mother to live somewhat vicariously through Robin. She had offered to help set her up with a dating app, and was always asking her if there was an abundance of attractive men in London. The book had been a self-help book for single women, written by a recently-married semi-famous model. Robin had tossed it aside at first, but then had found herself skimming through it, initially scoffing at some of the “rules” it presented. Things like “If, after one year, there is no proposal, it’s time to move on.” But then she had thought about it - she and Matthew had been together many years before he proposed, and although she could come up with many practical reasons why they had waited, she wondered if any of those things would have seemed like obstacles, had they really been in love. 

The book had also provided many suggestions for how to signal “without words” to a man that you were interested in them as a romantic partner. Robin had taken interest in this section - the lines between the psychology of attraction and actions used to justify violence or just bad behavior against women seemed blurred to her. Yet now she found herself playing with a lock of hair, partially so that she could surreptitiously smell the new perfume on her wrist as they spoke, and then realized, with shock, that this was exactly the type of body language that the book’s author had suggested employing.

Strike seemed to be looking at her differently as well. Was it her imagination? Maybe the fact that they were talking about light-hearted topics - sharing stories neither of them had told the other, had simply lifted his mood. How she ever could have thought him grumpy or unpleasant, she could not imagine. He seemed younger, energized. 

She ate slowly, savoring the food and the company, although she realized when she was about halfway through that she was in danger of losing the other half to Strike if she left it much longer. She agreed to a second glass of wine, and once again, after excusing herself from the table, realized that it was now past 10:00, and that there was no realistic way to extend the evening much further.

Strike seemed in no hurry to leave. As they finished their second drinks, Robin, who wanted the evening to last forever, but also realized they had to work the next morning, sighed and suggested that it might be time to head home. More advice from the self-help book floated through her head. _Be direct. If you want it, say so._

But could she? What would she say? What was there to lose? Friendship? The business? Maybe she was being naive, but she couldn’t see how they would really lose those things. She tried to imagine having to watch Strike date again, and felt, at that moment, that either of them being with someone else would be more damaging than it would be for the two of them to be together.

They were about halfway between each of their respective flats, and it was a fairly quick and easy journey for Robin on the Tube from the Green Park Station. Still, she stood awkwardly on the pavement after they exited the pub, unsure of which direction to walk, or of what she wanted to do next. Strike did not seem so conflicted. 

“I’ll see you home,” he said, offering his arm. 

_Ok_ , thought Robin, as she slipped her arm through his, and they proceeded to walk in the general direction of the Tube. The practical part of her brain, the sensible thinker who always planned ahead and considered all potential options, wanted to protest vehemently. It made no sense for Strike to go out of his way and take her home. The route was well-lit, and populated. She was used to traveling around London at night by herself, and she knew that she could defend herself in most situations. But she found herself wondering, if he did take her home, could she persuade him to come inside? Would he agree to stay just a little longer? _Be direct._ But all she could manage was a smile and a polite, “If you really don’t mind.” 

“I don’t mind,” said Strike. “What kind of a date would I be if I didn’t offer to see you home?” 

They were back at the Ritz, walking under the archway, just meters away from the entrance to the Tube. Traffic sped by on Piccadilly, but Robin felt secluded and sheltered on the pavement. She slowed her pace. Her heart was racing as she quickly ran through various scenarios in her mind. She could ask the question now, and still laugh it off depending upon the response. She should do it now. Now. Just ask. 

“Strike,” she said, squeezing his arm with her own. “ _Is_ this… a _date_?” 

“Erm-” Strike stopped near the last pillar, though they were still covered by the arches. “I’m sorry - didn’t mean to … it’s a thing you say, you know...” He looked away from her, as if embarrassed, and trailed off. Then he turned his face back towards her, and then, lowered his eyes to stare at his feet. 

Suddenly, Robin realized that she had the power. It was up to her, at this moment, to decide. She turned so that she was facing him. She slid one arm around his waist, and used her other hand to nudge his chin upward, forcing him to look at her. “It was an almost perfect date,” she said.

“Almost?” he asked.

Leaning forward, her lips touched his, properly this time - no firm kiss on the cheek. Strike inhaled deeply, and responded by wrapping his arms around her and returning the kiss, gently at first, but soon they were exploring each other’s mouths and Robin felt quivers from her head to her toes.

After several minutes, they broke apart. “Now I’d call it perfect,” she said, nuzzling his neck, and placing another kiss on his chin, before leaning back to look at him.

When he spoke, Strike’s voice was low, tentative. “Are you sure about this?”

 _Be direct. If you want it, say so._ “Absolutely.” She stepped away slightly and tugged on his arm. “Come on,” she said. “You promised to take me home.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm supposed to be working on Striketober! But this has been percolating for a while. When I was not much older than Robin's character, I was also newly, happily single, but was amazed at how many of my friends and family wanted to use me as a guinea pig to try out dating sites, etc. Someone did give me a book like the one I mention here. I skimmed it, hid it in a drawer, and ultimately gave it away. But my husband did propose 364 days after our first date, so maybe I picked up some useful information? Also, it's not a lie: Cornish Turbot and Yorkshire Grouse are actually on the Ritz's menu this month, at least, what they post online.


End file.
